Once, in a barren strip of landbetween highway and train tracks,a groundhog’s headpopped up from his holeto survey his rodent kingdom.He caught my eye as I waited therefor the stoplight to turn green.Twenty years on, I rarely passthat still-empty patch of dusty groundwithout recalling his grizzled face,wondering how long he survivedin such a desolate place,and wishing I could have told himhe left tracks upon my soul.